


I'll Be Your Safety

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Day 2: Badboy!Ian & Nerd!Mickey, GW2017B, Gallavich Week, M/M, trans Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 07:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: For Gallavich Week Day Two: Badboy!Ian & Nerd!Mickey-Ian appears at the beginning of the school year. Mickey has never seen the kid before, doesn't know who his family are or if he's just moved here, but from the second week of September he's suddenly attached to Mandy by the hip.





	I'll Be Your Safety

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't looove this prompt when I first saw it, and it took me a while to find a way to integrate their core personalities into it. I didn't want to sacrifice too much of their character just to fit the trope. So I've taken a little more subtle of an approach.

Ian appears at the beginning of the school year. Mickey has never seen the kid before, doesn't know who his family are or if he's just moved here, but from the second week of September he's suddenly attached to Mandy by the hip. Much as he hates to admit it, Mickey's a touch jealous. Despite the two years between them, he and Mandy have always been close, and suddenly his sister is an absent presence from his lunch table.

“Where's Mands?” Iggy says, dropping across from Mickey. Mickey shrugs, tense and stiff shouldered.

“Off with that new kid again.”

“The redhead?”

“Yeah.”

“He her new boyfriend?”

“The fuck should I know?” Mickey scowls across the table. Iggy smiles, easy, unoffended.

“Thought she told you everything.”

Mickey flips him off and changes the conversation.

*

“Mikhailo, please do not slam door. How many times I have tell you?”

“Sorry, ma.”

Mickey sighs and toes his shoes off, unsurprised his ma knew it was him. It's one of her skills he does not question. He finds Alyona Milkovich in the kitchen, rolling out pastry for a pie. She glances up when he stops by her side, touching his cheek once; brief, affectionate.

“You had good day?”

“It was alright,” Mickey says, stealing a handful of blueberries. She clicks her tongue at him in disapproval.

“At least wash your hands.”

“Sorry,” Mickey says again, because it's easier than arguing, and pops a berry into his mouth.

“Mandy is not with you today?”

“She was walking her new friend home, I think.” Mickey's tone is sullen in spite of himself.

“You could not walk with them?”

“He's Mandy's friend, not mine.” Mickey huffs, heaving his bag up on his shoulder again. “I'm gonna do my homework.”

“Okay, dear.”

Mickey stomps up to his room and flops face down on the bed, sighing into the pillow. After a moment, he rolls onto his back and pulls himself up into a seat. At least homework is a distraction, he thinks, and pulls out his book.

*

Dinner at the Milkovich house is always an unpredictable event. Sometimes it is just the four of them, Alyona and her children; Iggy, Mickey and Mandy. Sometimes Colin, Jamie, Joey or Tony stop by. They are not Mickey's ma's children by birth, but when she first married Terry she treated them as her own, and after his death continued to extend that love and care towards them. She always makes large enough portions to feed them all, and despite the extra dish cleaning it leaves her with, always seems happy when some of the boys show up.

This evening, it's Joey and his fiancée. They come bearing news.

“Laura's pregnant,” he says, wrapping an arm around his petite brunette girlfriend, who beams brightly at the announcement.

“Ah! Congratulations,” Alyona says, practically glowing with the news. “You first to make me grandmother.”

She sweeps around the table to bestow hugs on them both. While they're distracted, Mandy kicks Mickey under the table. He looks up at her, scowling around his mouthful of potato. She raises her eyebrows, a silent question about why he looks so sour. Mickey shrugs, casts his eyes aside. Then he forces a smile when Joey looks towards him. Mandy's still watching when he looks back at her, unconvinced.

*

Okay, so, maybe it's stupid. He could do as his ma suggests. He could walk the extra two streets with Mandy to leave Ian home in the evenings. He could talk to them during school. He could try and get to know Ian and slide into their friendship group. Except, he can't, because every time he sees Ian, his limbs go tense and stiff, and anxiety surges through him like a live current.

He hasn't felt this way in years. Since he was ten years old, dirty and covered in cuts from his youthful adventures. He'd gone to the park and there had been a little boy there with sandy hair and brown eyes like chocolate. He had been quiet in the face of Mickey's loudness, but had laughed as Mickey ran around pretend shooting bad guys, and had offered to push Mickey on the swing to help him go higher. Mickey had gotten a feeling like bubbles in his tummy when the boy's hand had brushed against his arm, a feeling that had nothing to do with the motion of the swing.

Ian gives him a similar feeling, and Mickey is sure that if he gets too close, he's just going to end up embarrassing himself. So he keeps his distance.

*

Within another few weeks, Ian has swiftly made a reputation for himself. He's in a fight every couple of days, often coming out on top, but leaving people bloody and bruised in his wake. He even breaks one of the football team's noses.

“Shit, Mandy. Heard your friend got in another fight today,” Mickey says, arching a brow. “You sure you wanna be hanging around with a guy like that?”

“You don't know anything about Ian.”

“Yeah. I don't. What, he just move here this year?”

Mandy blinks across the table at him.

“No. He's lived here his whole life.”

Mickey blinks back, surprised. He might not know everyone at their school, but unless the puberty fairy hit Ian extra hard with her wand, he's pretty sure he'd have noticed him before.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Gallaghers. Over on Wallace North.”

“Huh. I didn't know any of the boys were redheads. Just the two girls.”

Mandy scowls fiercely.

“Debbie's the only ginger girl. Fiona's got dark hair.”

“Yeah, but there was that other one, in the middle. Shit, wasn't she in your class? What was her name?”

“Ian.”

“Nah, she was a chick.”

“It's Ian.”

“No, Mandy.”

“Yes, Mickey. It's Ian. Ian's trans. That's why people keep starting fights with him. That's why he keeps getting shit. He started his transition properly over summer and assholes keep giving him grief about it, okay? Shit. I'm scared to leave him alone in case they team up on him or something.”

Mickey looks at her, wide eyed, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Shit, you mean Ian's a chick?”

Mandy punches him so hard in the arm it causes him to flinch away.

“Ow, the fuck, Mandy?”

“He's not a chick. He's a boy. Don't call him that again.”

“But he was-”

“He was born in the wrong body, numbnuts. He's a boy. End of.” She stands and starts to storm away, before glaring over her shoulder. “Don't mention this to him.”

Then she's gone, leaving Mickey stunned in her wake.

*

He sits in bed that night reading several pages of trans resources. His reading glasses slip down his nose as he sits hunched back over his laptop, absorbing as much information as he can so he can understand. He flicks his glasses up to rub his tired eyes when he's done, yawning. It's just passed half one. Shit. He'd spent more time reading than he'd thought.

Then, in a case of bad late night judgement, he opens Facebook, and types in 'Ian Gallagher'. Ian's profile is private. After what Mandy told him, Mickey's not surprised. He clicks up the photo, Ian in a beanie and white shirt, glaring as he flips off the camera. As much as Mickey stares at him, he can't pick out any image of the girl Gallagher he used to see about school. He remembers her as a kid, the only girl on his little league team, frizzy curls tied back, freckle faced, missing a tooth. No, he reprimands himself, not a girl, just someone he interpreted as a girl.

He takes one last glance at Ian's photo before shutting down his laptop and falling back into bed.

*

Mickey's working on his maths homework while he eats his lunch. He's good with numbers, fast, likes working out the equations, and has the strongest mental arithmetic in his class. He's almost done when he hears a crash and looks up to see Ian surrounded by three guys. One of them is trying to hold Mandy back, though she's putting up a good fight in her attempt to get past him.

Before he knows what he's doing, Mickey's got his glasses off and is rising to his feet. It's a mixture of anger that someone has dared to lay hands on his sister, and on behalf of Ian. That people just can't accept that he knows his own identity. In a matter of seconds, Mickey has crossed the room, and is dragging one of the boys away.

“Leave him alone,” he says.

“Fuck off, faggot,” the boy says, shrugging Mickey off. It's a throwaway insult, but it only fuels Mickey's fire. He laughs sarcastically, touches his thumb briefly to the corner of his mouth, then punches the guy in the stomach. As he crouches forward, Mickey knees him in the face. As he rises to stand, Mickey headbutts him, sending him down for good.

“Who's next?” He asks, smirking wild and dangerous as he pushes his sleeves up.

*

“Ow. Owowow fuck.”

“Language,” Alyona says, and presses firmed into Mickey's split lip. Mickey winces, but keeps his mouth shut this time. He can feel her anger, not wild and explosive like his father's was, but silent and restrained, bubbling beneath the surface. Even worse, he can feel the weight of her disappointment, suffocating. She finishes cleaning up his face and steps back with a sigh. “My Mikhailo. I thought you leave this fighting behind you.”

“It's not my fault, ma.”

“They strike you without reason?”

“Well... No. But, it's not fair. They were ambushing Ian for no reason.”

“This is true?” Alyona looks to Mandy, who has been sitting silently at the table, nursing her own bruised knuckles in a bag of frozen carrots. She nods. Aloyna looks back to Mickey. She touches his cheek in her soft, affectionate way, then pushes his hair back from his forehead. “My son, life is not fair. You will learn that a lot, but I am proud you try to help. Just try not to come home to me bloody next time.”

“No promises,” he says, smiling, cheeky, relieved that her disappointment has evaporated. She gives him a stern look, but when she turns away he sees it soften to a smile.

*

“Thanks.”

Mickey looks up to find Ian Gallagher beside his locker, watching Mickey with blue-green eyes the colour of the ocean. Mickey's stomach promptly drops to his feet.

“I- Uh. What?”

Ian glances away, almost shy, before forcing himself to meet Mickey's eyes again. Then he smiles, soft and small, but warm. Mickey's heart stumbles in his chest.

“For yesterday. You didn't have to... Y'know. Sorry if you got in trouble.”

“Uh, no, it's fine.” Mickey brushes his thumb along his lower lip, nervous habit. “Sorry those guys are assholes.”

Ian shrugs, like it's no big deal. He's got a black eye, a split along his right cheekbone, and a graze over his chin. He wears them beautifully. Mickey's mouth goes dry, and he feels like his tongue is stuck to the roof of it.

“It sucks,” he rasps out, awkwardly aware of every inch of his body.

“Yeah.” Ian sighs, then smiles that same small smile. “But. Thanks, man.”

He touches Mickey's arm, just his fingertips, barely a second. Mickey's skin sparks, and the giddy feeling of bubbles in his tummy from seven years ago comes back in a great rush.

“Anytime,” he says, and means it.

*

Mandy brings Ian home for the first time a week later. He is clearly uncomfortable meeting new people, shoulders curling in like he can retract into himself. This is short lived. Once Alyona descends on him with the force of her motherly instinct, wrapping him in the warm comfort of her embrace, remarking on what a handsome young man he is, smoothing his hair, the tension drains from Ian.

“Yo man,” is all the greeting he gets from Iggy, who, Mickey is certain, is no wiser than he initially was.

“You wanna watch a movie with us?” Mandy asks after dinner. Ian stands slightly beside her, still quiet, but more relaxed now. Mickey glances briefly to him and he smiles encouragingly.

“Sure,” he says.

Even with Mandy between them, he's far too aware of Ian's presence, so close. He spends more of his time stealing glances at Ian than he does watching the movie.

*

“So. You're pretty gay for Ian, huh?”

“What?” Mickey's cheeks heat without his permission. He tries to hide his blush behind his most vicious scowl, glaring daggers at Mandy. She's the first person he came out to, so it's not the gay comment that puts him on edge, but how easily she's noticed his slight crush-or-whatever on Ian. Is he that transparent?

“C'mon, Mick. You practically eye fucked him across the table last night.”

“I did not!”

“You look at him like... I've only seen you look at your math problems like that. Little furrow in your brow, intense concentration.”

“Shut up.”

“He won't make a move on you, y'know.”

“Shut up.”

“But he is gay. If you're wondering. So, if you wanted to make a move, you totally could.”

“Get out of my room.”

“I'm just saying.” Mandy moves to the door, then she turns, grinning smug at him. “So obvious, dude.”

Mickey throws his ruler at her, but she ducks out of the way and it bounces off the door frame.

*

Ian becomes a frequent feature in their house. Mickey's not sure how he feels about that. He's still not so great with his words around Ian, constantly stumbling over them, acting more grumpy and distant to try and disguise his awkwardness. Despite his brash attitude, Ian never seems offended or annoyed. He just laughs it off or gives Mickey this lopsided smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes and turns Mickey's stomach into a fluttering mess.

Yeah, he's been gay all his life, but since he met Ian Gallagher, he's really taken his gayness to a new level.

“Whatcha doin'?” Ian asks, smiling as he drops into the seat across the kitchen table from Mickey. Mickey glances up at him, nervously pressing his glasses up his nose, immediately self conscious. He hates his glasses, but it's too much of a strain on his eyes to read without them. He tries to avoid wearing them as much as possible, especially in public.

“Just my math homework,” he says, dropping his eyes back to the page.

“You were smiling.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I like math.”

“No one likes math.”

“I do.”

“Weirdo.” But Ian's smiling as he says it, his eyes bright with amusement, so it's hard for Mickey to take offence. “I suck at math.”

“I'm okay.”

“I like your glasses.”

“I don't.”

“Why not?”

“They're fuckin' ugly as hell, man.”

“Nah. They're real cute. You suit them. I didn't even know you wore glasses.”

Mickey is so caught up on the word _cute_ it takes him a moment to process the rest of what Ian said.

“Just for reading,” he says, pushing at the side of them this time. “I try to wear them as little as possible. Usually just round the house.”

“Guess I'll just have to come round more often so I can see you wearin' them, then.” Ian's still smiling and Mickey is acutely aware that his hand is starting to shake. He sets his pen down to make it less obvious, and reaches to take his glasses off. Ian catches his wrist quickly, then, seeming to doubt himself, releases it almost immediately.

“Don't feel like you have to take them off. I really do like them.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, and lowers his hand.

*

Mickey's walking into school when he catches sight of Ian, walking alone, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie and head bowed. Mickey jogs after him. He calls his name, but gets no response. Ian slips beneath the bleachers, and Mickey follows him, only noticing when he's close that the reason Ian didn't respond is because he has headphones in. Mickey touches his arm. Ian turns swiftly, arms raised defensively.

“Woah, woah.” Mickey holds his arms up in surrender, and Ian lowers his, tugging an earbud out.

“Mickey?”

“Hey. I saw you walkin', tried to call, but you...” Mickey gestures at his ears, feeling dumb and awkward as he tries to explain.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I had the volume up.” Ian smiles and starts to roll his headphones around his mp3 player.

“What were you listenin' to?”

“Ah.” Ian glances at him sideways, a bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ed Sheeran.”

Mickey snorts.

“He your style icon?”

“Nah. I wanna actually be able to grow a beard, you know?” Ian strokes his chin and chuckles, but it's a sad kind of laugh. Mickey smiles at him, chest constricting in sympathy. “But so far all I got is some chin fluff.”

“Better off, man, my facial hair grows in like pubes. Ugly as hell.”

Ian snorts, the sadness shifting from his eyes, and Mickey feels extremely accomplished.

“So what you doin' down here?” he asks.

“Didn't really feel like hittin' class today. Just. All the bullshit, y'know? Kinda wears you down.”

“Yeah.” Mickey rolls his lips in, regarding Ian with concern. “You okay?”

“I will be.” Ian offers him a tight smile, not the soft one that reaches his eyes, or the lopsided one that makes Mickey's knees weak. He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and lights up, taking a drag before he offers it to Mickey.

“Shit, I haven't smoked in like two months,” Mickey says.

“Oh, you don't gotta, I was just-”

“No, it's cool, give it here.” Mickey takes a long drag and holds it, then sighs as he exhales. “Fuck. Missed that. Ma hates the smell of them, goes mad if we have them round the house. Guess I just fell out of the habit of buying them.”

“I probably should. Not doing my lungs any favours, and I mistreat them enough as it is.” Ian laughs and presses his thumb into the material of his hoody, catching it on something and pulling it forward. Mickey's brow furrows, and it takes him a moment to realise Ian's talking about his binder.

“Oh,” he says, more to himself than Ian.

“Yeah. I don't wear it every day. I can pass pretty okay if I've got something baggy on, but it just... Makes me feel better.”

“Right.”

“Sorry. Is it weird for you?”

“What? No.”

Ian frowns and glances away.

“Just. You never mention it. I know you must know; everyone knows. Usually people wanna ask all kinds of dumb questions and stuff. Which is fine, I guess, if they're just being curious or tryna understand. Gets pretty fuckin' tiring having to explain yourself sometimes, though.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “I guess I just never thought you needed explaining.”

This time when Ian smiles at him, it is bright and genuine, and makes Mickey glow.

*

It's a Friday night. Mickey's been watching an ocean documentary on Netflix, because the ocean is cool as fuck, alright? Some of the things that live down there look creepy as anything. He's just shutting his laptop down and rising to get ready for bed when he hears the sound of laughter. He cracks open his window and listens, hearing it clearer now, drifting from the front of their house.

Mickey pads barefoot through to the front door, just wearing sweatpants and a vest. He finds Mandy and Ian laughing together on the porch, passing a joint between them. The smoke drifts up in hazy twirls, and the scent of weed hits Mickey squarely, gives him the kind of weird disassociated memory that smells sometimes do, a vague impression of his childhood. While he still catches a whiff of that smell on Iggy sometimes, the scent was much stronger when Terry was alive, and that is where his memory briefly transports him.

“Oh, hey, Mick,” Mandy says, flush faced and bright eyed. She pats the step above her, motioning for Mickey to take a seat on the top step, beside Ian. Mickey hesitates for a moment before he does. Mandy's two steps down, back propped against the railings, one leg stretched out and the other knee pointing skyward. “You want a hit?”

She holds the joint out to him. Mickey eyes it warily, the memory of his father still gliding uncomfortably along the back of his brain.

“I dunno...”

“Don't be a pussy.”

“It's okay, Mickey, you don't have to,” Ian says, smiling reassuringly, which puts Mickey at ease immediately.

“Gimme here,” he says, and takes it from Mandy. The first few hits, he doesn't feel much different, but after they've passed it around several more times, he starts to feel the tension melt from him, starts to feel warm and kind of hazy.

“Stars are pretty tonight,” Ian says, squinting red eyed at the night sky. Mickey and Mandy nod along in serious agreement. Then Mickey's gaze falls to Ian, pale skin practically glowing in the dim illumination of the street lamp, hair a stark blast of colour like a flame alongside it, the pale freckles across his nose and forehead practically invisible in the dark.

“You're pretty,” he says, too quiet to be heard.

“What?” Ian looks at him, brow furrowed.

“Nothin,” Mickey says, and clears his throat. “I just said yeah they are.”

*

Mickey answers the door to find Ian Gallagher on the brink of tears.

“Is Mandy in?” He's breathless, flushed from running, eyes brimming. Mickey's heart sinks. He chews his lip briefly, then shakes his head.

“She went out about half an hour ago.”

“Oh.” Ian deflates.

“What's up?”

“I- Uh.” Ian hesitates, as if wondering if he can trust Mickey. He clears his throat, drops his gaze. “My mom came back. She, uh. She's been gone for a few years, and she just shows up like it's nothin', and she called me- By my dead name. I dunno. It was just seven shades of triggering.”

“Shit. I'm sorry, man.”

Ian sniffs, shrugs, averts his eyes.

“You wanna come in?”

Ian looks at him with those wide, sea coloured, puppy dog eyes, and Mickey is momentarily lost in them. Then he nods.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He slips in, quiet and curled in on himself.

“You wanna drink?”

“Water would be nice.”

“Cool. Wanna cookie?”

Ian shakes his head, so Mickey gets him some water and they head to his room. Ian props at the edge of the bed and chews his bottom lip.

“Sorry 'bout this.”

“Ain't nothin' to apologise about,” Mickey says, sitting beside him.

“I just- I didn't know where else to go. I had to get out of there.”

Mickey thinks back to the years Terry was alive. Young as he was, he remembers the chaos, the anger, the mixture of fear and rage bubbling inside himself, competing. Fear won out a lot. He did a fair bit of running away in his day, too.

“You wanna go somewhere?” he asks.

“Where?”

“Just. Follow me.”

*

“What is this place?” Ian asks, looking around the empty, crumbling building.

“I come here sometimes when I need to get away,” Mickey says. He moves around, collecting cans and bottles from the floor. Ian watches him with hands shoved deep in his pockets, his nose red from the cold. Mickey lines them up along a half collapsed wall. “It helps to let off some steam.”

He goes to the corner and moves a few rocks around, digging out a gun.

“You have a gun?” Ian asks, eyes wide. Mickey shrugs.

“My dad had loads of them. Ma cleared most of the house out, but I kept this one. Colin gets me bullets for it.”

“Cool,” Ian says, turning the gun over in his hand when Mickey hands it to him. Mickey nods towards the targets he's set up.

“Knock yourself out.”

Ian only glances at him for a second before he widens his stance, raises his arms, and proceeds to shoot the targets down in quick succession. Mickey, who was expecting him to maybe be lucky enough to clip a few of them, watches in shocked awe. Ian glances back over his shoulder with a smug smirk, and he's never been more attractive.

“ROTC,” he says, and makes a comical show of blowing the end of the gun. He clicks the safety on and passes it back to Mickey. “Thanks. I think that did help.”

“Uh. No problem.” Mickey's still watching Ian, eyebrows raised, pupils wide. His tongue presses against the corner of his mouth absently. Ian's eyes drop to it, brief, before they move back up to Mickey's. A determined look crosses his face, and he steps forward before Mickey has time react, catching the back of his neck and pulling him in for a firm kiss. Mickey tenses beneath it, stunned.

“What are you doin'?”

“I- I dunno. You were lookin' at me like you wanted me to-” Ian trails off, looking suddenly terribly self conscious. Mickey can see his walls coming up, can see him retreating into himself, can see the defences falling into place. He moves swift, catching Ian's wrist to stop him stepping away.

“I did. I just wasn't actually expectin' you to.”

Ian's face slowly softens, then his brow furrows again.

“Is it weird for you because I'm-”

“No. No, not at all. Honestly, I just... Hot guys don't just go around kissin' me everyday, alright? Caught me off guard.”

Ian smiles that soft smile, his eyes brightening.

“You think I'm a hot guy?”

“Have you fuckin' seen yourself? You're like, the hottest guy.”

“I dunno. I think you might hold that title.”

Mickey scoffs, but Ian is looking at him so soft, so genuine, that his heart beats hard in his chest.

“You, uh. You think we can try that again,” Mickey says, glancing aside, too nervous to make eye contact.

“Yeah,” Ian says, nodding seriously. “I think we can do that. I think we can try as many times as it takes.”

Then he laughs, quiet and breathy, before he leans in and kisses Mickey again, and this time, Mickey kisses back.

 


End file.
